


Letting Go

by cadkitten



Category: Dir en grey, Miyavi (Musician)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Drabble, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distraught Toshiya, a botched relationship, and a wise Kyo. What more to say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> For the drabble fest at [](http://burnthekingdom.livejournal.com/profile)[**burnthekingdom**](http://burnthekingdom.livejournal.com/).  
> [“Letting go doesn’t mean giving up, but rather accepting that there are things that cannot be.”](http://community.livejournal.com/burnthekingdom/21773.html?thread=43277#t43277)  
>  Beta Readers: gold_scarlett, gothic_hime  
> Song[s]: “ITOSHISA HA FUHAI NI TUSKI” by Dir en grey

Sometimes there are days when I feel like my life is coated in a fine film of filth. It’s as though no matter what I do to make things right, to keep things going in a steady flow of ‘this is right and this is wrong’, I manage to fuck something up. No matter how many times I cleanse myself of the sins and the wrongs of the past, I find them coming back to me again and again. One of those things that always comes back is my emotions for a certain someone. I’m sure as I go on it will become obvious who that someone is, but I won’t name any names. It hurts too much to even speak his name these days.

Maybe it would help if I started at the beginning, if I told you the abbreviated version of how I came to have these feelings. It was about eight years ago and I, the bassist of a wonderful band, met this wonderfully suave and kind man. He was the biggest spazz on the planet... well, right after me, I suppose. We were at some function that our record labels had deemed necessary for us to attend, both of us setting out to have a damn fine time rather than standing around like lumps on a log (like some of my fellow bandmates decided was necessary). We bumped into each other about four hours into the night, both of us half drunk by the time it had gotten that far. I almost fell on my ass, and it was his strong tattooed arms that wrapped around my waist, keeping my sorry ass off the floor.

By the time I righted myself entirely, he had me pressed close and there was this look in his eyes like he wanted to take me home and do the most delectable things to me. I’d never really been one to look at men like that, despite a certain guitarist in our band being rather flamboyantly in the closet at the time. Go ahead… laugh. That statement doesn’t make sense unless you actually know him. Mr. Pretends-to-be-straight-but-isn’t should be his name; kind of a shame that it isn’t. But, anyway, back to the story. This man… this gorgeous, multi-colored-hair, tattooed, lanky man was just more than my poor libido could handle. I wanted him from the instant he pressed me to him. Maybe it was something about him being slightly feminine… or maybe it was something about the way he didn’t even flinch that I’d ran straight into him.

Now that I look back at it, these feelings blossomed out of almost nowhere, in a split second. Truly love at first sight. Bliss in a multi-colored, spastic package. So the night moved on and we pretty much ended up so incredibly drunk we had to leave our keys with the bartender and make our way home by cab. It was probably four in the morning by the time we got to his apartment complex and I figured out that I didn’t have my wallet on me any more. The cabbie wasn’t so great and he wouldn’t even estimate how much the ride to my place would be. In the end, this adorable spazz of a man decided it would be best if I crashed at his place and we went to the bar together in the morning. He paid for the ride to his apartment and I got out, following him up to his apartment, this warm buzz in my system that foretold of feelings more than just awe and instant love. I wanted him… I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

He must have felt the same way all along because the moment we got into his apartment, got our shoes off, and the door locked, he had me pinned against the wall, his mouth crushing into mine with a force I’d never felt behind a kiss before. The power of the moment was overwhelming, marking me into surrender in a matter of seconds, my body wilting under his. We stumbled and bumped down the hallway, tearing blindly at one another’s clothing, leaving a trail of evidence behind us. It wasn’t soft or romantic. No… it was desperate and needy, perhaps even sloppy. The way I remember falling on the bed, his lean body over me, the warmth of his cock pressed hard against my own was foreign, but nice. Even through the haze of alcohol, I was more than ready in a matter of seconds, my hands exploring his body with awe and appreciation.

We must have spent an hour just exploring one another, driving each other up the wall into a haze of raging desire. By the time he pressed his sheathed length into my body, I was almost desperate for him, his fingers having stretched me perfectly and his work having brought me teetering so close to the edge that I almost lost it just from the feeling of his thick heat sliding into me. I remember only a fog of the rest, mostly the feelings rather than the actions. It was like being on the best high in the world, everything kind of numb and yet not. I ached so badly for him. I wanted more, I wanted to be one with this perfect creation of God.

When I came, it was like falling off a cliff into nothingness, adrenaline pumping and that feeling of loose freedom overwhelming. The only thing that brought me back down to reality was the few moments before he reached his peak, the way his hips snapped, the noises he made, and then the extra warmth as his dick pulsed inside me. It was more than amazing, beyond delectable and into the category of oh-my-fucking-god.

In the following few hours we repeated this process a good two or three more times, finally passing out somewhere around seven in the morning in a tangle of long limbs and obnoxiously colored hair.

Things were like that between us for almost a year, though we never told anyone. It was all in secret, hidden away from the prying eyes of even our bandmates. No one needed to know our hidden desires and both of us felt that way about it. But then, one day, he just stopped calling me. I’d call and he wouldn’t answer. It tapered off into something completely one-sided for almost a month before he showed up on my doorstep, explaining how he’d been involved in some sort of problem with the record label having found out about us. His eyes were so apologetic, but his mannerisms were almost cold toward me. He’d pushed me away and solved the problem without ever thinking of what I had invested in us. But when I look back, I realize I never even told him. I never spoke the words to tell him how much it was to me… that he wasn’t just a random fuck.

Less than twenty minutes after he showed up, he disappeared again. That was the last of us for a good long time. I tried to put it all behind me and move forward with my life. But it was like the universe had planned out some kind of elaborate torture for me, shoving me into his life at least once every few months just to remind me of what I couldn’t have. We’d bump into one another at bars, out shopping, even at random events that had nothing to do with the industry. Half the time it was cold and uncomfortable and the other half the time we’d end up sneaking off somewhere to satisfy our needs for one another in the fastest way possible.

It went on for years, this on-again-off-again thing that neither of us could let seep out and yet was written all over us. Then one day about three years ago, we bumped into one another in a coffee shop a few blocks from my apartment. The air felt really awkward, not at all like the prior times, and kind of out of nowhere, he told me he’d met someone… someone his heart and soul belonged to. The conversation pretty much ended there, his hand on my shoulder and then he was gone, like he’d never been there in the first place, except the lingering pain in my own heart.

Almost a year later, I received an invitation from him and his soon-to-be-wife, announcing their wedding. It included a photograph of them together and a request to join them at some really fancy joint in Nagoya. I hate to admit it, but I tore the invitation up into a million little pieces and then lit the entire thing on fire in my kitchen sink. Some of the things we do in life are… questionable. That was perhaps one of those things, though I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.

I didn’t go, refused to have anything to do with the man I loved marrying someone. I did find it somewhere in me to send him a check in a plain envelope. There was no card. There was no congratulations and there was no thought put into the gift. In the memo line I scribbled _for what it’s worth_ which I suppose meant nothing to him, but the words were meant to be bitter, biting, and rude. I received a thank you note from them both, obviously penned by a woman. That was shoved in the fireplace along with a few of the things we’d bought together. I watched it all burn while I drank an entire bottle of Captain Morgan’s by myself.

It was almost a year before I heard more. This time it was an announcement of their new baby girl. And this time… I went. It was begrudging, but I figured the least I could do was show up and shove a gift for the child at them. After all, the child did not deserve my hatred. It had done nothing wrong. I bought a few pretty pink things and went to deliver them. My luck was that he was the only one home, the wife and child at the doctor’s for a check-up. I pretty much just shoved the present at him, told him I hoped his daughter was healthy, and then left him standing at the door with his mouth hanging open.

Since then, we’ve run into each other four or five more times, each of them resulting in much awkwardness for me and him acting like he thinks nothing is wrong at all. It’s been three months since I’ve run into him and three months since out of the complete blue our beloved little blondie of a vocalist decided to pass me his wise words from out of nowhere. “Letting go doesn’t mean giving up, but rather accepting that there are things that cannot be,” he told me, his dark eyes piercing me the way they always do. Then he turned around and walked off like he’d never said a word.

I’m not sure why just a simple few words could work so well, but I took what he said to heart and for the first time in years, I found myself not resenting the love of my life for walking away from me, for leaving me with my heart strings flapping in the wind. Sometimes… all it really takes is wise words and an open mind. Not that it doesn’t hurt anymore, because it does. It hurts something awful. But that pain is bearable now. He and I just cannot be. But that doesn’t mean I have to walk away and pretend like what we had never existed at all. The next time our paths cross… I’ll be ready. I’ll be able to just accept the possibility of friendship rather than love and lust. And maybe… maybe I’ll get to see that adorable child of his after all this time.

**The End**  



End file.
